


Fear cuts deeper than swords

by questioningconstellations



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fix It Fic, a different take on the growing of their relationship in s8, but will feature other important relationships, gendrya-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-19 21:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questioningconstellations/pseuds/questioningconstellations
Summary: A reworking of Gendrya in Game of Thrones Season 8 and an exploration of their lives beyond it.





	1. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's coming home.

She woke up to the feeling of someone’s hand on her shoulder. She tensed, hand instinctively reaching for the dagger she kept under her pillow. 

Her hand dropped when she realised who it was. Sansa.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, eyeing the look on her sister’s face.

Sansa smiled, “Jon’s coming home.”

That made Arya sit up straighter and her eyes widened. 

“How far is he?” she asked. There was a feeling in her chest that was all too familiar. Fear. That he was so close to her but not enough. In that moment, she felt like she had when she'd gazed at the Twins from a distance years ago. 

“He should be arriving in a few hours,” Sansa said. But a dark look suddenly crossed her face and the smile she wore mere moments ago faded away.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s just that,” Sansa started. “He’s brought with him, Daenerys Targaryen-

Arya raised an eyebrow, “Isn’t that good? We need her army and her dragons-”

“-who he’s bent the knee to,” she finished, sighing.

“Oh,” Arya said. Her sister’s disappointment became clearer to understand then. Sansa, more than anyone, had struggled to reclaim the North. She’d spoke only in bits and pieces, of her time here with the Boltons, but her pain was palpable. And now, Jon had compromised the independence that they had fought so hard to win back.

But she also knew him. Knew that he would not do such a thing lightly.

“Sansa,” she started. “If Jon bent the knee, there must have been a good reason for it-”

“There better be.”

“We will talk to him,” she said, covering Sansa’s hand with hers. “When he gets here.”

Sansa managed an unsteady smile in response and clasped her hand tighter. 

It was strange. All their lives, they had been at odds with each other. Sansa was the proper lady, her mother’s pride and joy. While Arya was the difficult child, who swapped dresses for breeches and needles for swords. 

_Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you ... and I need both of you, gods help me._

Her father's words from years prior came back to her in that moment. When he had said it then, she had struggled to see a time when her and her sister would ever trust each other. _If only_ , he could have lived to see them now. He would have been proud of them, she was sure. 

The lone wolf dies but the pack survives, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Through this work, I hope to showcase a more faithful depiction of Gendrya in the final season as well as expand on their lives beyond it. You can find me on [tumblr](https://questioningconstellations.tumblr.com) if you've got questions about GOT and gendrya or if you just need a safe space to spill all your gendrya thoughts and emotions because I'd love to hear all of it.


	2. Dead Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She found herself walking closer as he dismounted his horse and when his eyes met hers, she imagined his face resembled hers.

They stood together, in the courtyard, awaiting their brother and... _their Queen_ it seemed. Arya turned to look at her brother, who stared ahead placidly as usual. When her gaze shifted to Sansa, she could feel the tension in her body. She reached out and took her sister’s hand in hers. They shared a look as the sounds of marching drew closer.

Finally, Stark bannermen arrived through the gate and behind them she saw Jon. His hair had grown out and he looked more wearied than when she’d seen him last but it was him. She felt the strongest urge to run over to him right there and then but she felt the grip of her sister tighten as Daenerys Targaryen came into view moments later.

She stilled then and waited for Jon to walk over to them. He hugged Bran and Sansa in turn before turning to her. 

“Arya,” he breathed before she leapt into his arms, clinging on to him like she did when she was a child. She felt Sansa’s anxious stare on her but she didn’t care in that moment what anyone thought. 

She embraced her brother tightly, not wanting to let go. It had been so long since she’d felt the prickling of tears forming in her eyes. 

“You’re here,” Jon said, the disbelief in his face evident. “I got a letter at Dragonstone but it didn’t feel real-”

“I know,” she said, smiling. Jon was here. He was well. For years, she had dreamt of this moment. She had hoped to see him again, held Needle close to her because that was all she had left of him. But now finally, he was with her again.

Her gaze shifted then to the woman walking up to them. She took in the sight of Daenerys Targaryen with cautious curiosity. Her eyes trace her slender frame, pale skin and long, pale silver-gold hair. She looked like something out of the stories her father used to tell her about when she was a child. A smile crossed her face when she heard the screech of what was undoubtedly one of her dragons and she looked up, to see it fly overhead. She watched it for a moment with awe. 

She felt an unbidden desire then to ask the woman before her a hundred questions she’d long since buried but she resisted it. She knew of her ancestors and their stories. She loved those stories but she did not know Daenerys Targaryen. Not yet, at least.

Daenerys looked towards Sansa first.

“Lady Stark,” she greeted. “I thank you for inviting us into your home.”

She watched Sansa carefully and saw the distrust in her expression, “Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.” Arya felt the coldness in her sister’s tone and judging by the way the Dragon Queen’s face changed, she had felt it too.

Daenerys turned to her then, recovering quickly.

“You must be Arya, “ she started, smiling warmly at her. “Jon has told me so much about you.”

Arya’s smile faltered at her words. Why was Jon telling _Daenerys Targaryen_ about her, she thought. Her gaze flitted to her brother, who looked tense, before returning to the woman that stood before her.

“I am,” she started, her tone measured. “We are grateful for your help in the fight to come.”

Daenerys seemed relieved to hear that and nodded at her. 

Arya looked behind them to see a number of wagons entering the courtyard, pulled by horses. They contained piles and piles of what she assumed was Dragonglass.

But her gaze shifted to the man who rode behind them and she froze when her gaze settled on a dead man. 

She found herself walking closer as he dismounted his horse and when his eyes met hers, she imagined his face resembled hers. 

He stopped moving and stared at her, eyes widening.

“Arya,” he said, looking at her like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Gendry,” she breathed, walking faster towards him until she stood right before him.

“I thought you were dead,” he said.

She laughed lightly at that. “And I thought _you_ were dead.”

They stared at each other for a moment before he moved to pull her into a tight embrace which she returned eagerly, her arms wrapping around him. Her body relaxed in his embrace and her heartbeat slowed as she felt the warmth of his breath against her neck. 

It felt unreal. That he was here and holding her now. She’d buried her memories of them years ago, thinking he was dead. But he wasn’t. And now, he was here. With her.

They pulled away, arms still hanging loosely off each other.

“You’re alive,” she said, gaze focused on his face and nowhere else. 

She took the sight of him. The broadness of his shoulders, the hardened muscle she could feel underneath her palms even through his cloak, the blue of his eyes. And she did something she had wanted to do for a long time.

She dropped her hands from his shoulders and punched him squarely in the chest.

Whatever he had been expecting it certainly was not that, if his stunned expression was anything to go by.

He stumbled back slightly at the force of her blow, rubbing the spot where she had hit him, “Arya, what the hell! What was that-”

“That,” she started, eyes narrowing at him. “Was for leaving me, you idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on [tumblr](https://questioningconstellations.tumblr.com) if you've got questions about GOT and gendrya or if you just need a safe space to spill all your gendrya thoughts and emotions because I'd love to hear all of it :)


	3. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She regarded him for a moment before grabbing his arm suddenly and pulling her along with him.

**Sansa**

She smiled as she watched Arya and Jon embrace. They held onto each other tightly as Jon hoisted her up. When they pulled away, she glimpsed tears glistening his eyes. For a moment, she felt a sting of resentment at the warmth of their reunion. They had always been the closest. Jon was the bastard son and Arya, the misfit. She remembered how when they were younger she would spend hours combing through her long auburn hair, adorning it with the prettiest pins she could find. Her mother and Septa Mordane bestowed her with compliments as she excelled in all the things expected of a lady: poetry, needlework, dancing and singing. Their praise had filled her with joy and she had rejoiced in it, all the while Arya was scolded for her crooked stitches and gracelessness. But even then, their pretty words couldn’t protect her from the ugly pinch of envy she’d feel every time she’d find them laughing together at something she wasn’t a part of. 

She had been a child then but she was not one anymore. She shook the feeling quickly, hoping no one had noticed her face slip. _I am the Lady of Winterfell,_ she reminded herself and she smiled wider at them.

She patted her sister’s back gently as they pulled away but her smile morphed into confusion as she saw the look on her sister’s face. Her expression was not one of joy or relief but shock. She followed her sister’s gaze and saw that it fell upon a young man riding into the Winterfell courtyard. He was broad-shouldered with cropped black hair and deep blue eyes that seemed almost familiar but she couldn’t for the life of her, place where she’d seen them before. 

She watched in confusion as her sister walked slowly toward the man as he dismounted his horse. She turned to Jon, who’s eyes narrowed as they neared. They spoke but she wasn’t close enough to hear what was being said. She observed the man’s face closely and her confusion only burgeoned as saw the way he was looking at her sister. With familiarity. 

Her eyes widened as all of a sudden, he pulled Arya close, burying his face in her hair. She knew Arya loathed sudden physical contact but this time, her hand didn’t go to her dagger. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his embrace with an unexpected eagerness. The kind that forms only when you have known someone for a long time. _But where could they have met,_ she wondered. 

She turned to Jon, who watched their reunion, it seemed, with a bewildered look on his face. She watched as his gaze narrowed at the man. 

She raised an eyebrow, “Do you know him?”

“Gendry,” Jon said. “I met him at Dragonstone. He’s a blacksmith. He went beyond the Wall with me.”

She shifted her gaze back to her sister. “He didn’t tell you he knew Arya?”

“No,” Jon said slowly. “He didn’t.”

Their conversation was interrupted when they saw Arya punch him in the chest and they watched in confusion as he staggered back. 

“Arya, what the hell! What was that-” he shouted, hands coming up to the spot where she’d punched him. 

Jon was moving forward before she could stop him. 

***

**Gendry**

“That,” Arya began. “Was for leaving me, you idiot.”

Her words made him freeze. He wanted to tell her that not a day had gone by that he hadn’t regretted going with her and that he was sorry for leaving her. But they were interrupted before he had time to say anything that would make her punch him again. 

“Gendry?” 

He turned at the sound of Jon’s voice. Face pale, he looked nervously at him.

“You? Arya? What-” Jon paused then, looking like he couldn’t find the right words. 

He glanced at Arya. _Help me_ , he pleaded silently. She regarded him for a moment before grabbing his arm suddenly and pulling her along with him. Her grip was firm as she pulled him through the crowd in the courtyard.

As they moved, he glimpsed flashes of confused faces as they passed by. 

“Arya,” he tried. “What are you- where are you taking me?”

But she didn’t respond and only tugged him harder until they reached a smaller building. Not letting go of him, she opened the door and pulled him in before shutting it with a loud bang.

Heaving, he looked around. As his eyes scanned the room, he realised exactly where she’d brought him. The forge.

“The forge?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She merely leaned against one of the workbenches and looked at him coolly, shrugging her shoulders.

“You looked like you needed an escape,” she said, tone divulging nothing. He wondered then, how she’d become so adept at hiding her emotions as she pleased. The girl he left behind was fiery and brash. But the _woman_ before him was undoubtedly different. 

When he said nothing, she spoke again.

“Why does Jon not know about us?” she asked, hands braced against the edge of the wooden table.

“I-” he started. “Thought you were dead-”

“And?”

He breathed deeply, “But I wasn’t sure and I was afraid that if I told him about you, he would confirm it. And it’d be real then-” He stopped there for a moment, trying to force his voice not to shake as much when he spoke next. “And I- I don’t know, was scared that he would be angry with me. For leaving you.”

For a few moments, there was silence between them.

“He wouldn’t be angry,” she said quietly. “Maybe a little,” she said, the faintest of smiles crossing her face. “But he’d understand.”

“He would?”

“He would,” she replied, nodding. “He’s always longed for a true family of his own. Life...as a bastard- even a highborn, is-” She paused for a moment. “Complicated.”

He nodded, the unease in him having only lessened slightly. “But you’re,” he started carefully. “Angry at me.”

She shook her head, “I’m not angry at you now.”

He sounded like a petulant child then and he wanted to kick himself for it. “But you punched me?”

The mask she wore lifted then. “I was honouring my thirteen year old self’s wishes then,” she said, laughing softly. “Back then, I wanted quite badly to punch you or shove you down a steep mountain-”

His responding laugh is nervous, which made the smile on her face widen slightly.

“-And since the mountains are too far, I settled for punching you,” she finished, crossing her arms. 

He looked down at her, smiling involuntarily at her words. It had been a while since he’d smiled this much. His smiles had been scarce before they met all those years ago in King’s Landing and they died down once more after they parted. 

He glanced up to find her watching him.

“Where were you,” he started. “All these years?”

The smile on her face faltered then. “It’s a long story,” is all she said. 

He nodded. He couldn’t imagine that those years had been any easier for her. She may have been a highborn but away from the North, away from Winterfell and looking like a scraggly boy, she was no more than any of the rest of them. 

“And your list?” he broached cautiously, moving forward to lean on the workbench beside her. 

“Most of them are dead already.”

Nothing could stop the slight chill that ran down his spine at the way she announced it. There was something he found deeply unsettling, in the satisfaction he sensed in her tone but he shook it off quickly. 

“Who’s still on it then?” he asked.

She stared ahead, thinking. “Cersei, the Mountain, Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr, the Red Woman.”

His eyes widened in confusion at the last three names on her list. 

He glanced sideways at her. “Why the last three? They never hurt your family.”

“They did,” she replied firmly.

“No,” he started. “They didn’t.”

She turned to him then, reaching for his hand.

Clasping his hand firmly in hers, she spoke again. “They did hurt my family,” she started, looking up at him. “They hurt you.”

He could not stop the sharp intake of breath from him at her words. He pulled their clasped hands and tugged her closer to him until he could embrace her tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her shoulder. “You were- are my family and I shouldn’t have left you.”

She only gripped him tighter, “I forgive you.”

It was funny how just three simple words eased the guilt that he’d harboured for so many years and for the first time in a long time, he relaxed.

For a few blissful moments, they just stood there, arms wrapped around each other. Then, slowly, he pulled away as a thought occurred to him.

“Arya,” he said.

She looked at him questioningly. “What?”

“You can cross Thoros off your list,” he said. 

Surprise flashed across her face. “He’s-” She paused. “Dead?”

“He is,” he confirmed, pulling her a bit closer.

“But how?”

“He was with us beyond the Wall,” he started. “And got attacked by a dead bear.”

She burst out laughing then. “I’m sorry-” she wheezed. “I mean, I’m not really _sorry_ but that’s a really shit way to die.”

“I know,” he said, grinning slightly.

Her smile fell suddenly. “You went beyond the Wall with Jon, too?”

“I did.”

She looked perplexed. “But why?”

He reached for her hand, holding it as he spoke. “Because,” he started. “I couldn’t protect you. But it felt like a second chance for me: protecting your brother.”

“Gendry,” she said slowly, resting her head against his chest, sighing. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” he breathed into her hair.

“Do me a favour,” she said. “And stop trying to die.”

She couldn’t see the smile that graced his face then. “As you wish, milady.”

His smile only broadened when he felt the slap against his back from her that he knew was coming the moment the words left his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on [tumblr](https://questioningconstellations.tumblr.com) if you've got questions about GOT and gendrya or if you just need a safe space to spill all your gendrya thoughts and emotions because I'd love to hear all of it :)
> 
> Also, I thought that it would be nice to do a little sharing post each chapter which I'll try to do as often as I can. For this chapter, I really wanted to focus on resolving some of the tension between them due to Gendry's choice to stay with the Brotherhood. I've been thinking a lot about how Arya added three names on her list purely for Gendry. I think for him, her affection for him does not need to be stated literally in that moment. He knows that Arya created that list to punish all those who had hurt the people she loved. Knowing that she added three of them for him, is proof enough of her feelings to him and I really wanted to show him reacting to it. 
> 
> I also wanted to expand on how Arya changes around him. Around others, she is serious and does not reveal anything. But his presence, even after so long apart, is still capable of breaking down some of her defences and making her feel less like she needs to be ready to strike at any moment. Okay, that's all for now. See you all next time :))
> 
> Also, yes there will be a few other POV's here and there to paint a fuller picture. But I hope to keep it Gendrya-centric.


End file.
